Blood in the Water
by Otoshigo
Summary: Hotshot lawyer Arthur Kirkland goes to New York to settle a simple dissolution. Little does he know what he's in for with Alfred F. Jones on the other side of the table. Lawyers!USUK!AU


The offices of Jones Fisher looked much like any other corporate law firm in New York, so numerous that by now Arthur Kirkland thought they are blended together. Stifling a yawn of jetlag, he checked his watch. They arrived right on time for their appointment - that is to say a half hour late. Yet it was now running an hour past their appointed time. It would have been vexing, had Arthur not known who they were meeting.

Arthur had the measure of Alfred F. Jones, JD, Esq. before even needing to see him. Legacy Harvard graduate, senior partner in his father's top-tier law firm at the ripe young age of twenty-five, which was un _heard_ of, his 'hard-work' unsoiled by giving credit to anyone but himself. Spoiled, rich, entitled, incompetent. No doubt with a bloated ego, taking credit from his associates while he did nothing.

Alfred Jones wouldn't stand a chance.

"Hi there, welcome-welcome," the young prince said as he finally appeared. An all-American boy-next-door, with blond hair, blue eyes and thin spectacles that were probably fake to make him look as though he had an iota of intelligence. He greeted Arthur and his associate at the door with a bright white smile and a firm handshake. "Name's Alfred F. Jones. You're the bunch with Prescott International, that right?"

Good lord, the boy couldn't even speak English correctly. Moreover, it looked like he didn't even do them the courtesy of looking up who would be opposing counsel. Although he was dashingly handsome. And fit, even if the cut of that suit did him any favors. Shame he probably didn't play the other field.

"Arthur Kirkland," Arthur replied, before gesturing to his colleague. "This is my associate Walter Fritz."

"Ooh, two on one, this oughta be fun," Jones joked, his smile widening in good humour. It should have been Arthur's first clue. No overworked associate sitting in on the meeting. "My office is right this way. Sandi get these nice Brits some coffee," he told a passing secretary.

"Tea," Arthur corrected primly. "Earl Grey, cream, no sugar. Fritz will have the same."

"Always speaking up for the little guy, huh?" Jones asked, sounding suspiciously like he was mocking him. However, that would have required more intellectual wherewithal than Arthur thought him capable of. That should have been his second clue.

The boy was still all smiles as he led the pair of them to his office - a showy corner office overlooking the New York skyline - showing them to the sofa as his secretary brought them their refreshments. "Anything else we can get you? No?" Jones asked, sitting across from them. "Alright, so what do you have for me?"

Arthur nodded to Fritz, who opened up his suitcase and passed over the sheaf of paper. "Per paragraph 15 of the merger, in the event of a dissolution everything will be split along the original revenue streams. We have taken a look at the books and think the terms here are equitable. All your client needs to do is sign on the dotted line." He highly doubted that the boy would even read it. After all, that was what his poor associates were for.

Jones took the sheaf of paper and took a scant look at it. Per Arthur's expectations, he chucked the wad of paper onto the glass coffee table with an unsettling _CLACK_. "I'm sure it's a perfectly neat little settlement without a single comma out of place. You just seem like that kinda stick in the mud," Jones said with a left-handed compliment that would have made Arthur's father proud. "I do have a counter proposal though. Sandi!" he called to his secretary. "Mind bringing those files in?"

Then Sandi came in, looking professionally pleased as she handed her employer a stack of what looked suspiciously like suits instead of a counter settlement. "We're suing for breach of contract," Jones said, tossing the suit on top of their obviously rejected proposal.

"On what grounds?" Arthur demanded, wondering if the boy even _knew_ what that meant. "Furthermore, you cannot sue for breach of contract on a merger we are currently in the process of dissolving."

"Oh yes, I can," Jones said smugly. "Because until they sign on the dotted line, they're stuck together. So I can do whatever I want. _Furthermore,_ " he added with a hint of a British accent, "we are subpoenaing for all the files related to the Groeshen-Thrift liabilities."

Arthur's first thought was: _Shit, how did they find out about that?_

What he actually said was: "I don't know what you're talking about. All of Mercktel's books were handed over in discovery, which your side sign off on as of April 4, 2001. So unless you found any _new_ evidence, I am going to file a motion to dismiss," which frankly, he was going to do anyway. However, he was starting to worry when a keen sharpness came to Jones' eyes that belonged on no incompetent rich boy.

"Oh yeah, your guys were thorough," Jones admitted, "but then we found Mr. Adams. And by the look on your face, you know exactly who I'm talking about," he added when Arthur went very, very still. All but gloating now, Jones threw out the next stack of papers. "Oh, so since our contract was never really honored in the first place, I'm also suing for theft of intellectual property. And Sandi's got a whole box of subpoenas to go along with it," he said as he waved over at his secretary, who waved back.

Arthur's lips set into a thin line. "Fritz, go find me some lapsang souchong," he told his associate without looking away from Jones' too-blue eyes. He felt Walter start, but then leave the room without a word, giving them the privacy that he was really after.

Neither spoke for a long pause as he took a sip of tea. Then Arthur remarked, "This is a friendly dissolution, not a competition."

"Oh please, have you ever heard of a friendly divorce?" Jones asked with a smile, leaning languidly back against the sofa.

"I'm not a divorce attorney," Arthur replied, his eyes narrowing.

"Coulda fooled me," Jones replied airily. "I mean, you _were_ brought in by Mercktel because they were operating in bad faith and _knew_ it. Sounds like open and shut infidelity to me, which negates that "prenup"," he air-quoted, "that our guy signed. Meaning we're entitled to the house, the car, the kids _and_ the five billion dollars. Oh, and we want the private jet too."

Another calculated moment went by as Arthur studied his opposition. In that terrible moment, he realized that the reason that there were never any other names on the cases that Alfred F. Jones filed was not because he didn't want to give his underlings any credit. This and _he_ were not going to be as easy as he had previously thought. He would _not_ make the mistake of underestimating him again. "Are you declaring war, Mr. Jones?"

"Please, Mr. Jones is my father. Call me Alfred," Jones said, grinning like a shark.

" _Are_ you, Jones?" Arthur pressed.

"There isn't going to be any war, _Artie_. But I'll give you enough credit that it might turn into the Battle of Thermopylae," Jones said lightly.

Despite himself, Arthur ground his teeth. How did the boy manage to find the _exact_ name he hated most? Moreover, his _arrogance_ was even more bloated than even the most seasoned corporate lawyer. He was going to show this American hotshot what was what, if it was the last thing he did. "You'll be expecting my suits for defamation and malpractice within the hour," he said as he snapped up into a stand.

"Oh, I wouldn't expect any less from the great Arthur Kirkland," Jones smiled, still lounging on the sofa as if he didn't have a care in the world. "You better buckle up, because you're in for a ride."

~o~

 _Two years later..._

Arthur checked his watch once more as he looked pointedly at the empty seat across from his. The restaurant was still busy even into the 10 o'clock hour. After all, they were in New York's financial district. No one slept until 3 AM.

Finally, his so-called date appeared when Alfred arrived to the table. "Heya, Artie. Hope you didn't wait long," he chirped cheerfully in that way of his.

" _Arthur,_ " Arthur ground out, "and you're aware you made the reservation at eight, are you not?"

"Oh, when did you show up?" Alfred asked with a grin.

"Eight," Arthur lied promptly. At the widening grin, he amended, "Alright, fine, nine-thirty. Just _once_ it would be nice if you were the one waiting for me."

"Aww, but I like that you're so eager," Alfred laughed. Arthur had become distressingly familiar enough with them that he could immediately tell it was genuine good-humour. He waved the waiter over and asked for a glass of the usual, before he turned back to Arthur. After a pause, he said, "You know why I asked you out tonight?"

"I don't know. You want to ply me with scotch under the guise of negotiation, so I'll feed you some information on the case or give up a motion?" Arthur asked dryly. Yet he always agreed to go out anyway. It was part of the game. Besides, Alfred's company was not wholly disagreeable, legal battles aside. In fact, he might even admit he liked him personally. Under oath.

"I know by now that never works," Alfred laughed. "Besides you tried it on me too."

Arthur merely hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"Anyway, I'm here about something else. Nothing to do with the case," Alfred added, his good cheer growing a bit more muted.

Arthur straightened immediately. "Is this about your grandmother? Do we need another postponement?" But the boy was already shaking his head before he finished speaking.

"Nothing like that," Alfred assured him, interlacing his hands together on the table. It only worried Arthur more. By now, he had all of Alfred's tells memorized and the boy was _nervous._ "How many dinners have we had together?"

"Too many," Arthur replied automatically.

"Arthur..." Alfred said, pained, shutting the light atmosphere of their talk down. "This is serious. I'm just- We've talked so many times and you're funny and actually _nice_ deep down and I just- I just... like you."

"I... like you, as well?" Arthur added, adding a note of confusion as his stomach started to sink. Oh no, _please_ let it not be the way he thought Alfred said it. He prayed for the boy to simply drop it, even though he knew that Alfred never dropped _anything._

All hopes were dashed when Alfred suddenly grasped the top of his hand. Instantly, Arthur ripped his hand away. "Alfred, _get a hold of yourself_ ," he hissed softly, leaning over the table. "You're- you're being _ridiculous._ You're confusing competition for chemistry. Are you even gay?"

"Oh no, Artie. I've been straight as an arrow until the day you stole my heart by getting me thrown out of court for contempt," Alfred said with a flat sarcasm that would have made any Brit proud.

"That _was_ rather brilliant, wasn't it?" Arthur grinned.

Alfred rolled his eyes, before he began to beam too. "See, this is why I like you. You _are_ brilliant. And funny and handsome and _just my type,_ " he added, his tone sending an unbidden tremble down Arthur's shoulders.

Despite that, he still needed Alfred to see _sense._ "Is your type morally bankrupt, because that is the type of person who would agree to a sexual liaison with the other side of a billion dollar lawsuit," Arthur said as his eyes narrowed.

"Chinese Wall-" Alfred began to argue before Arthur cut in again.

"No, that is _not_ going to work and you know it," he stated, pulling himself back into a ramrod posture. "It's bad enough that we have dinner all the time-"

"Which we bill for," Alfred replied.

" _But_ if we go even further, conflict of interest is going to be an issue. Then next thing you know, someone will accuse us of collusion and _we'll_ be on the wrong end of malpractice charges from both our clients. I will not take that risk. No thank you," Arthur replied as he folded his arms over his chest.

However, Alfred only gave him a considering look. "So..." he started, in a way that Arthur didn't like, "you're basically admitting that there _is_ something there that would cause risk in the first place," he smiled, "aren't you?"

"I said nothing of the kind," Arthur huffed, even as he felt his neck begin to prickle with sweat.

"You know as well as I do that what you don't say is as damning as what you do say," Alfred replied with a wicked smile. He slapped a decisive hand down on the table. "Alright, got my answer. Thanks for the drink, Artie!" he called as he downed his drink in one gulp and skipped on the bill.

"Oi. Oi!" Arthur cried after him, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. He settled back down, fuming even as he began to wonder what on earth Alfred was going to do.

Arthur got his answer the next morning in the NYC satellite office of Prescott International, which he had been all but forced to relocate to during the dissolution 'negotiations'. "Mr. Kirkland, a bottle of wine came for you," his secretary told him as he came into the office.

"Who is it from?" Arthur asked.

"No name, sir. It came special delivery," Sheila said as she handed him his paper, tea and reports.

Suspicious, Arthur stepped into his office and saw what was undoubtedly a Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru - priced at an absurd $5,000. Naturally, he had chosen it to spite Alfred at the first dinner that the boy had ever insisted on. Now, however, the sight of it made him smile. Without a word, he took it and placed it in his liquor cabinet.

The next dinner they had, Arthur decided to bring it up after arguing about the nuance of commas. "By the way, Alfred. Someone delivered an absurdly expensive bottle of wine to my office the other day. You wouldn't happen to know about that, would you?"

"Oh, I don't really know anything about wine," Alfred replied innocently. "So you've told me time and time again. But it can't really be a bribe if you have no idea where it's from, right? Maybe you have a secret admirer."

"That would be nice," Arthur agreed just as innocently. "As long as said secret admirer will keep the gifts under ten quid in the future so as to not cause any actionable damages."

"I'm sure they will take that under consideration," Alfred said after a pause.

"Good," Arthur smiled, then proceeded to rip Alfred's Harvey deposition to pieces.

~o~

The next six months, things had finally wrapped up with the Mercktel-Bright dissolution. Perhaps Jones Fisher had some extra motivation to get things settled or everyone was simply _tired_ of all of the proceedings, but at last the two billion dollar settlement was put to bed.

It was a Pyrrhic Victory for either side, but Arthur was still going to put this in the 'win' column for making sure no one actually went to jail. Heads would roll, surely, but as of 4:05 PM that afternoon, it was no longer his problem.

"Sheila, I'm going home early," he told his secretary, which earned a delighted gasp. "And take the day off tomorrow!" he called over his shoulder.

When Arthur got down to the lobby, he wasn't in the least bit surprised to see Alfred F. Jones waiting for him. "I would have thought you'd be out celebrating," he said lightly as he started towards the street.

"I will, depending on what you say to my next question," Alfred replied, falling in step next to him.

"If you're going to ask me to dinner, I've seen enough of your face to last a lifetime," Arthur answered lightly enough that they both knew he was joking.

"Aw, and I was hoping I'd be able to see your face everyday," Alfred sighed, which made the Brit halt in his tracks. "Oh don't _worry,_ I'm not asking you to marry me. Well, I am actually. Sort of," he added cheekily.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur demanded.

"Come work for us," Alfred said, his smile as bright as the sun. "I want you to be our new senior partner."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Whatever happened to your romantic intentions?"

"Oh, I still have them," Alfred replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Which is why I want to make sure you stay here instead of moving back to London. _And_ to make sure that no one else poaches you so that we don't have any more conflict of interest issues. Also, you're ridiculously good, so I'd rather be spending all my late nights working _next_ to you than _because_ of you."

"Ridiculously good, am I?" Arthur asked, quite open to having his ego stroked.

"I'd bet $10,000 you get a different offer within the hour," Alfred said, puffing out his chest. As if by magic, Arthur's phone began to buzz with the name of a lawyer in a different firm assisting with some of the financials.

"You rigged that," Arthur accused, ignoring the call.

"I only told them that you were done with my case, that's all," Alfred replied sweetly. He extended an arm, "So, Mr. Kirkland, can I take you out for drinks so that we can negotiate the terms of your hire?"

"You _may_ take me out for dinner to try to convince me to sign with you," Arthur replied lightly, taking the arm, "while I convince you in what order our names should appear on the door."

That stopped Alfred short. "Are you ever going to _not_ play hardball?" he demanded, exasperated and amused.

"Why, Mr. Jones, you would never consider me if I didn't," Arthur replied, as the pair headed out.

~o~

Five years later, more than one name change had been in the making, as Jones Kirkland Fisher became an international top-tier firm proudly headed up by managing partner Alfred F. Jones-Kirkland and senior partner Arthur Kirkland-Jones.


End file.
